


Four of Swords

by TheRebelDread



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, M/M, Murder Husbands, Oral Sex, Season/Series 03, Will is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 03:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11523564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRebelDread/pseuds/TheRebelDread
Summary: "I've thought of killing you in a thousand different ways. Making you suffer. Watching the life fade from your eyes....But apparently I'm more impulsive than I thought."





	Four of Swords

Hannibal wakes to a knife pressed against his throat, cold and sharp. His pulse quickens just slightly against the edge, but his body remains still and calm. He doesn't need to open his eyes to recognize the weight above him. The smell of cheap cologne. He inhales deeply, lets the scent caress his senses like an old friend.  
  
"Is this what you thought of, all those times you fantasized about killing me?"  
  
Hannibal has a knife to his throat, but Will is the one trembling. "No." The honesty spills from his lips as though his tongue were gushing with it. "I've thought of killing you in a thousand different ways. Making you suffer. Watching the life fade from your eyes. I wanted to see you _vulnerable_ \-- if only for a moment before your heart stopped beating.... I want to break you the way that you broke me." His body goes rigid as he grasps for control. "But apparently I'm more impulsive than I thought."  
  
Hannibal smiles as he opens his eyes. Will sees himself shatter in them. "You could still do it.. _With your hands,_ isn't that what you told me you wanted?"  
  
Will nods mutely as the blade slips from his grasp. His hands curl around Hannibal's throat; feels his pulse beneath his palm and groans. The beast within him uncoils and Will is overcome with the urge to feel it stop. To _crush._  
  
Hannibal pulls him forward, his grip firm but so gentle - almost _loving._ _"Do it._ Do it, Will."  
  
The beast whispers in his ear. It has Hannibal's voice. Hannibal's teeth. _Hannibal's beating heart._ Will is panting, his body thrumming with desire. "You would let me?" A whisper. Another gush of honesty from his bleeding tongue. He fears the answer.  
  
_"Yes."_  
  
The beast purrs. His hands instinctively tighten around the doctor's throat. Squeezing. He can feel Hannibal's pulse in his own veins, taking over -- his blood is no longer his own. His body is no longer his own. Hannibal doesn't struggle, even as his skin turns a faint purple and red. He thinks of the painting of the Red Dragon. What a sight it would have been to behold -- how vivid those colours must have looked, just before they were swallowed in the belly of the beast. Will sees them now, as if he's been blind every moment before this. Finally, _he sees._  
  
"Francis Dolarhyde wasn't the Dragon.. “ He breathes. The words are forced out like a swift punch to the gut. _“You are."_ Hannibal smirks. The devil's grin. He urges him on with a tight grip that will leave bruises deep in his skin that Will craves. _"The Great Red Dragon."_  
  
Hannibal never stops watching the man above him. The man he had changed. The man who was _becoming._ His grip finally starts to loosen as Will's tightens.. _Crushing.._ Those watchful eyes begin to wane as they roll back into his skull. Will feels euphoric. "I break the Dragon.... I become the Dragon.... This is my design." Will is so close. So close now to the thing he desires most. Hannibal is dying in his hands.

 

He lets go. Hannibal drinks in a gulp of air and Will marvels at the bruises already forming on his neck. His hands are trembling.  
  
A flood of calm washes over him like the cold waves of the Atlantic. It drags him under, water filling his lungs and salt on his tongue. He's suspended, rolling with the currents on waves off bliss. _It's beautiful._  
  
Will is flat on his back before he realizes what's happening, with Hannibal looming over him like a great beast. "Is this how you imagined it would end?" There's a blade against Will's throat and Hannibal's lungs are spent, desperate for air.  
  
"No."  
  
"How then, did this little fantasy of yours play out in your mind?"  
  
Will is dizzy like he's the one who had been choked, but his body still floats on the waves. "I knew I couldn't go through with it.. I knew I couldn't kill you." There's no doubt Hannibal feels the hard press of his arousal against his thigh. But he feels no shame. Only bliss.  
  
"Why?" A genuine curiosity flashes in the eyes of the beast. Maybe even love.  
  
"Because then it would be over."

 

The answer drains the air from Hannibal's lungs once more. His heart betrays him, hammering against his chest. _Compassion._ How inconvenient.  
  
"It's not over, Will." He lifts the other man with ease and slams him against the wall. The force sends an echo of pain down Will's spine. One that feels all too familiar. It reopens every wound, old and new, blood spilling freely from each scar. _"Dragons. Eat. Little lambs."_ His voice is a deep growl, each word emphasized by a deliberate roll of his hips.  
  
Will submits to the devil with a whimper that lodges in his throat, and spills out through the gushing wound in his tongue. He's lost in the currents. In the ocean of Hannibal that threatens to drown him. "Then do it." Will doesn't realize he's reaching for Hannibal until he feels skin beneath his fingers. Warm. Inviting. _"Devour me."_  
  
Will has heard the growl of beasts and wicked men. He has never heard the likes of the noise that crawls out of Hannibal's throat -- something straight out of hell. Or is it heaven? It nestles in his spine, where it will stay forever. Searing into flesh and bone  
  
Hannibal grinds against him with a primal urge that brings back Will's fever. His whole body shakes with the thrill and the want that rolls through him. He craves more. Hips arching off the wall for more of that friction. But Hannibal denies him, and Will chokes on a sob.. An ear. _Flesh._  
  
His legs are too weak to hold his weight, and Will drops to his knees, looking up at the devil's eyes that beckon him into the flames. Will wants to burn. He's fumbling for Hannibal's belt with fingers that feel too numb and too sensitive all at once. The good doctor's cock feels heavy on his tongue when he takes him into his mouth. He tastes even better than he imagined.. Oh how he had imagined. But no amount of empathy could prepare him for the look in Hannibal's eyes. Or the guttural noise that leaves him, fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on.  
  
"Such a good little lamb."  
  
Will takes and takes until he chokes, and then he takes some more. Hannibal forces his cock down his throat and Will sees stars, drool spilling down his chin. It's messy and it's good and he aches, his own cock straining in his pants. His hips stutter, desperate for friction and finding no relief. But Will doesn't dare touch himself. This something holy. Something sacred.  
  
He pulls away; slick lips and shrink wrapped eyes. _"Please_.. Please let me.." If he could hear himself, Will's cheeks would colour in shame. But all he hears is Hannibal's breath. His pulse.  
  
"Please what?" Hannibal's voice quivers only slightly, curling at the edges like burned parchment.  
  
The ocean is in Will's eyes. "Please let me taste you."  
  
Hannibal's teeth ache for flesh. Will's flesh. He's drawing a clock in his mind. Ticking with the beat of Will's heart. So is Will. But there are no numbers on Will's clock. Time doesn't matter. Who he is doesn't matter. Only this.  
  
"Yes." Hannibal's hips surge forward into a pliant throat, as he shudders with a release that shakes him to the core. He pulls back just in time to spill into Will's open mouth, working his own length until he's spent, and come runs over those swollen lips – dripping down his chin. Hannibal grabs Will's face, forcing his mouth shut with fingers that dig into the hinge of his jaw and growls. "Swallow."

And Will does.  
  
The sound of that voice goes straight through to his core. Right down to the darkest part of him. The part that sees Hannibal's teeth ripping into the Dragon's flesh, blood spraying out onto a canvas of stone. He comes untouched with a violent shudder, Hannibal's name spilling from his lips like a prayer. _To whom it may concern._  
  
He sees white as he collapses onto the floor behind him, and it breaks like the waves on the cliff. His body melts into the Atlantic, crashing with the waves.  
  
"My little lamb."  
  
Will's clock fades away, and even the light dissipates. There is nothing left of the Will that was. Only a shipwreck at the bottom of the sea; already crumbling with the tides. Hannibal's voice is a warm breath against his lips, and water gushing into his lungs. Will breathes him in.  
  
"This is my design."

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Though threatening swords loom above, the lamb sits in stillness without fear."
> 
> The Four of Swords (The Wild Unknown tarot)


End file.
